Good Advice
by Igorina
Summary: Aziraphale gets a nasty shock whilst perusing the morning paper.


Disclaimer: Neither Crowley, Aziraphale or The Times belongs to me.

Aziraphale almost choked on his tea as he spotted, with utter horror, the contents of the twenty-third page of the morning paper. How Crowley had managed it he didn't know. Actually, this was untrue; he had a fairly good idea of how entrenched the machinations of the Serpent of Eden were in the global media. He just hadn't thought that Crowley would ever do something so… so crass and cheap. Well, at least not in a respectable broadsheet of all places. But there it was clear as day. The Times was apparently very pleased to announce that AJ Crowley; bestselling author of the world acclaimed self help tome _Putting YOURSELF First_, and its groundbreaking follow ups _Getting More of What YOU Want_ and _It's All About YOU_, had seen fit to dispense his wisdom and wit on a daily basis in the paper's brand new advice column. Aziraphale had been aware that Crowley had inspired a great many of the books that could now be found residing in the 'Personal Development' sections of book shops all over the world. But he'd never thought that the demon would have the gall to insidiously propagate the cause of Satan by writing one of those despicable self help book. On balance, he realised that he should have know that yes, this was exactly the sort of thing that Crowley would do to insidiously propagate the cause of Satan.

As he scanned through the seven queries written by troubled readers Aziraphale became increasingly incensed with the sheer brazenness with which the demon was delivering some of the most morally defunct guidance it had ever been the angel's displeasure to witness. He fumed silently as Frustrated from Doncaster (46) was casually told that her husband's erectile dysfunction following major surgery was a sure sign that she should be start looking elsewhere for satisfaction, shook his head as Worried from Edinburgh (56) was advised to start a pyramid investment scheme in order to deal with his money worries, and frowned disapprovingly as Unmotivated from Manchester (22) was told that as a student it was her duty to sleep in until 3pm, spend all night in the pub, and that she could always pay somebody to do her assignments anyway.

The Arrangement did mean that Aziraphale and Crowley had agreed not to meddle in each others affairs unless directly instructed to by their respected superiors; but Aziraphale had always been somewhat protective of the realm of the book and the broadsheet. And there was something just not on about Crowley being able to snap up souls so easily and quickly. Unfortunately a good old fashioned smiting was completely out of the question. The Arrangement, informal though it was, was very clear on the matter of smiting, biting and/or otherwise getting a bit carried away with that pitchfork/flaming sword. Besides, the inevitable fallout would involve a reduction in expensive meals out and the elimination from his weekly routine of several other activities to which the demon's presence was central.

Aziraphale therefore, did the only thing a respectable Englishman, or in his case angel, could. He wrote a strongly worded letter of complaint.

Three days later Aziraphale opened the paper once more, and noted with great satisfaction that his letter; so politely worded yet utterly outraged that, had he been a reader of The Times, one Mr. RP Tyler of Lower Tadfield would have felt unworthy in the presence of the work of such a master, had been printed. Underneath however, was a rebuttal from one Mr. AJ Crowley who stated, in words laced with the most abominably nauseating smugness imaginable, that his only wish was to serve the public by dishing out his 'practical and emotionally honest help', and that if Mr. A Fell thought he could do any better he could always try writing a self help book himself. It also stated that if Mr. A Fell wanted to discuss the matter any further he'd be available to talk at The Ritz at half past eight on Thursday.

Irritated in the extreme - Crowley had after all said on Saturday that he'd be free to go out for dinner on Wednesday - Aziraphale paced the floor of the shop for several minutes trying to decide what to do. Crowley clearly thought that Aziraphale was going to let this one go unchallenged. But he was wrong. If Crowley could write down his dubious 'guidance' and inflict it upon the nation then Aziraphale could bloody well do the same. All that was needed was a bit of inspiration, a lot of hard work and for Aziraphale to temporarily suppress his distaste for the genre.

When Better _Living Through A Nice Cup of Tea And A Good Book_ knocked _All YOU All The Time_ off the top of the self help bestsellers list, Aziraphale was unable to contain his mirth at Crowley's expression of shear amazement and utter disbelief. And the commendation was quite nice; though not quite as heart warming as the letter from Mr and Mrs Pritchard in Kent who claimed that their marriage had been saved by joining the local book club.


End file.
